On the Road
by Darkflame's Pyre
Summary: Road trips are interesting. Especially when you have five Tracys in a car, and not everything is going the way some people would like. Fic Seven of the Bound Oneshot Collection. Movie-verse.


**A/N: This is just a little bit of randomness that I've had in my head for a little while. It has basically no plot at all, but I just thought I'd share. **

**I have only gotten locations off of google maps, but I do hope that the travel time/distance is accurate, but if not, let me know, my American friends, and I will fix it! Xx**

**Disclaimer: If not for Sylvia and Gerry Anderson, I would not be able to play in this wonderful playground, so no; I do not own the Thunderbirds.**

"Are we there yet?"

"We've still got a while to go yet, Alan."

The scenery moves past the window; I can see it now, but up until two seconds ago I'd been reading contentedly, the only sounds in my head were the words flowing off the paper. I turn my page, and settle further into my seat, only to lose track of the words as Alan's voice rings out again.

"How long Scott? I'm bored…"

"Around an hour; I said that before." He pauses. "Hang on. What are you talking about? You can't be tired of your game already, Al. You only bought it yesterday…"

"The battery on the console is dead." Alan's voice is irascible, pouty, and it grates on my nerves something shocking. I ignore the annoyance and shuffle into a more comfortable position in the backseat.

"Well give me the cord for the console, and I'll plug it into the cigarette lighter."

"It's too short. It won't reach! How long until we get there? I want to show it to Dad!"

"I said at least another hour, Sprout. You've got to learn patience." Big Brother really has an endless amount of it himself, but I can tell that it is waning, especially as this isn't the first time that Alan's been disruptive on this trip.

At least five times he's asked what time lunch is, and if we can go swimming straight away. But I know that he knows what he's up to. He's a smart operator, my little brother. By far the most capable of all of us to wrap Grandma around his pinky.

It's never worked with Scott, and he's getting frustrated. "Read a book. I know you've got plenty to do in that backpack of yours. John told me he helped you put everything in."

"But, Scott…."

I look up from my novel as I hear Scott sigh; raking his fingers through his hair in slight frustration, trying to guard his tongue before he says anything harmful. He handles the steering wheel of the old Rover with one hand as he looks briefly over to the backseat on the right passenger side, where Alan slumps grumpily; trademark pout well and truly in place. He opens his mouth to reply, but is rapidly cut off by the brother in the seat on the other side of the car.

"Al. Shut up. Please!" Virgil's face is awfully pale, tinged with a slight shade of green that really makes me glad that there is a good supply of barf bags in my younger brother's pack. The travel sickness, and the bad headache he woke up with this morning, as well as the slight cold he's been nursing since yesterday definitely doesn't make Alan endearing with all his high-pitched whining.

Gordon is out for the count in the shotgun seat, right in throes of the same illness that Virgil is starting off with. It's a monster, and I rather think that we're all probably going to end up with it before the end of the trip. Headache, congestion, chills… the works. Basically the mother of all colds, and Gordon started the entire thing by thinking he'd be clever and walk home from the pool instead of catching the bus, even when the early summer weather had decided to take a nosedive straight back into winter with a storm that had sent the temperature dropping back to the mid fifties.

That had caused my second and third brothers to be separated for the three-and-bit hour drive from Lawrence to Hutchinson, because even when the two of them are healthy, they fight like cats and dogs. Virgil blames Gordon for making him sick, and Gordon is mad at Virgil for making Scott tell him off for using all the hot water before anyone else could shower, in an effort to clear his stuffed-up nose.

I can't exactly blame Scott for doing it to get at least a little bit of peace of mind, but it means that both Virgil and I have ended up in close proximity to an eight-year-old who doesn't know the meaning of 'be quiet', especially when used in conjunction with his own name.

I knew why Dad had decided that a road trip had been a good idea; there are a number of things to keep the lot of us interested in Hutchinson while he finalises his latest business transaction.

The Kansas Cosmosphere and Space Center for Scott and I, the historical Fox Theatre for Virgil, and the Splash Aquatic Centre for the Terrible Two, before we are to travel north to Kansas City, where we we'll be staying for three days before heading home. However, judging by the coughs and sniffles coming from the two sickies, I really can't see much happening other than all of us ending up ill.

I'd mentioned as much to Scott before we'd left, Dad not having yet known about Gordon's hijinks and the ensuing consequence. But Big Brother had stubbornly maintained that this had been on the agenda for a while; to take the time to be together as a family before both I and Scott headed off to settle in at Harvard and Yale in a month's time.

Virgil is still glaring as Alan opens his mouth again to protest his silence, and Scott, having that gift of eyes in the back if his head, cuts him off before our middle brother decides to murder our youngest.

"Alan. Virgil's got a headache, and you're giving me one. Stop whining and find out something to do, or just be quiet!" Scott's patience appears to have hit either a bump or a brick wall. The eighteen-year-old —despite his apparent never-ending tolerance— does not have an endless tether. Baby Brother, unfortunately hasn't quite learned how to clue himself in on the warning signs of Scott's temper.

Pushed again into an unwilling silence, Alan sits for a moment, staring out the window; his face set in a mulish pout. I lower my eyes from where I look at the set of Scott's shoulders to my book, and find my place again with absolutely no problem.

There is about thirty seconds of silence but for our ill brothers' heavy breathing, and the sounds of the other cars as they drive, alongside that of our own engine. This is good. Peaceful.

My hands suddenly clench on my book cover, despite my previous thoughts. I'm right behind the kid in the side-ways facing seat in the back of the car, and I feel like I want to just reach over the seat to grab a fistful of his hair and order him to stop the scraping sound that I know that he is creating; scuffing his sneakers over the rubber mat on the floor of the car that is there to stop mud and dirt making it hard to clean.

"_Alan._"

Uh-oh. Scotty has The Tone. The one where you know immediately know what you've done is wrong, but he's not going to forgive you if you don't back off lickety split!

With there being only two and a half years between the two of us, I have never really found myself the target of it. Alan, Virgil and Gordon however, have all at one time or another, when they've done something that they really shouldn't have when Commander Junior had been on the case.

Alan seems to have realised that he is getting on Scott's nerves. And it's never a good idea for an eight-year-old to get on Scott's nerves when he has a headache, and I can tell by the reddening of my brother's ears that that is exactly the issue.

Al had better shut up now; otherwise he might just find himself restrained and gagged, and not just by Big Brother One. Try Big Brother Two when he's peeved!

It is quiet.

I went back to my book and Alan finds something to occupy himself after rummaging in the bag on the seat for a minute or two. Virgil somehow managed to slip into sleep sometime in the middle of the oldest-youngest brother altercation, if I was to judge by the nasally breathing coming from his corner; buried beneath the blanket he has brought with him.

I've gotten so lost in my novel that I don't realise I've lost almost thirty-five minutes. It must be something to do with the silence that reigns throughout the entire car, punctuated only by the breathing from the twelve-year-old in the front seat and the fourteen-year-old in the back.

"Hey, Scott." I call quietly, not wanting to wake up either of my younger brothers if they are still asleep. "Are we just about there?"

I yelp as a pillow and what looks suspiciously like a popped corn package soar into my face with a muffled thump.

"John!" Virgil complains. "I'm trying to sleep!"

As I grab the pillow from where it's fallen onto my lap, there is a snicker from the front, and a flash of red hair as Gordon moves; the summer sun shining through his curls.

Jeez, whoever it was has good aim…

A small hunch forms a knot of suspicion in my stomach as I take in the pattern on the pillow case, and register that only one person in this family eats double-salted popping corn.

I speak slowly and menacingly, ignoring the sniggering that is now going on from the driver's seat, and the small blonde boy directly behind my second-youngest sibling who has turned to look at me, his face going red from laughter at the look that is apparently on mine.

"Gordon. Were you awake the entire time?"

My younger brother, though his voice is almost unrecognisable from the congestion that clogs his nasal passages, is completely and unashamedly cheerful as he nods, peering around the seat, sleep-tousled hair awry. Clearly his 'nap' has made him feel a little better...

"I had to listen to _him_ asking that the whole trip." He jabbed his thumb over at Alan, who I have to hide a smile from as he pouts. "Why're you so special?"

I just stare at him, eyebrow raised, but all I think is _Kid, you'd better run fast when this car stops._

**A/N: Please review and let me know what you think. I'm hoping to get my next Determined chapter out tomorrow or Saturday night before my busy weeks' start, so I'll hopefully see you all then! **

**-Pyre Xx**


End file.
